Someone else said I might have gained access to her bank accounts.
But the ugliest rumors began when people noticed that every evening at exactly 9 PM, I entered Susan’s bedroom and kept the door closed for nearly an hour.
Soon, people were whispering that Susan and I were having some kind of “romance.”
Even one of my friends half-jokingly asked me,
“Jake, are you sure you’re telling us the whole story?”
I didn’t answer.
Because about one thing, they were right.
I really wasn’t telling the whole story.
My name is Jake. I’m 31 years old, and I’ve lived across the street from Susan for five years.
During all that time, I had barely seen her family.
Not on her birthdays.
Not during the holidays.
Not even when she began walking with a cane.
Three weeks ago, I noticed that her morning newspaper was still lying outside her door that evening.
